


Cactus In The Valley

by everafterlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Angst, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Louis is 17, M/M, Smut, Stealing, american fic, harry is 15, i guess that counts as underage???, i tried to be accurate, idk - Freeform, more serious issues come up later i'll tag them as they come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everafterlarry/pseuds/everafterlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1985 American AU. Shit fucking happens.</p>
<p>(Loosely based on other stories.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cactus In The Valley

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!!! i know what i'm doing but at the same time i don't!!!!! just to be clear i'm not actually american nor was i alive and thriving in the 80s. and i'm not a gay dude (but i am a gay girl if that helps????). also i'm so sad to say but i dont own one direction or the country of america or anything else in this story tbh. i took a lot of themes from other books (silver star and it can't be you, namely) and movies (dirty girl) so credit goes to those creators not me!!!! louis's mom's name is changed to mary in this, and violet = lottie but i'm sort of mad at lottie rn so she doesn't get to be mentioned lolololol and none of louis's other siblings exist oh well!!!! the other boys will show up eventually, just not at their proper ages probably!! title was inspired by lights's song of the same name!!!!! i think that's all that needs to be mentioned. bon appetit, motherfuckers

Louis's mom, Mary, is nothing short of creative. She paints canvas after canvas with beautiful colours, talent Louis could only dream of having, and captures the idea of what she paints so gracefully. She is graceful. Louis thinks this all the time. Graceful twists of the wrist, brush in hand, eyes focused on the painting. 

Sadly, she is also insane. Louis is no doctor, but he's diagnosed her himself. She wishes she were a famous film star in Hollywood, or an acclaimed painter in Paris. She is neither, however. She is a mother of two teens in Buttfuck Nowhere, California, with a waitressing job she calls in sick to most days. 

(It's baffling, really, how she's not been fired yet.)

(It's not actually baffling, though. Louis is pretty sure he knows exactly how she keeps the job - and a stable paycheck - even though she calls in sick most days. The first time he met Clark, her boss, he just knew what was going on.)

Nevertheless, she is creative but insane. She preaches about the Vietnam War even though it's been over for officially a decade now, she talks about Duran Duran like they're any good (if Louis hears Hungry Like The Wolf one more time, he's going to walk to San Fransisco and jump off the Golden Gate Bridge), and she likes to take off at her own leisure.

Though some days it feels as if the Duran Duran issue is most pressing, the disappearing issue is really the bigger deal. Upon discussing Mary's absence a Saturday of April, Louis learns his younger sister agrees. And typically so. Violet is two years younger than Louis, and probably his best friend. Louis is thankful he can't remember life before he was two, because taking on the world without Violet just seems sad. Though he'll probably never admit this to anyone, it's the truth. 

Louis and Violet don't discuss Mary and her lack of mental stability very often. Violet worries so much, worries about getting worry lines from excessive worrying, and debating what to do about Mary only makes Violet more worried. Louis, of course, worries too. He hopes his mom is not in any danger, that she's safe and maybe a little more sensible when her children are not around. He thinks maybe one day she'll return with a man, someone to run this house so Louis doesn't have to.

Beggars can't be choosers, Louis knows, so he is mostly just grateful when his mother returns every so often without any missing limbs and sometimes even a smile on her face.

This week, an increasingly hot and sunny week in the beginning of May, Mary's been gone for officially six days. Louis tries not to worry, tells himself not to pick at the skin around his fingernails, but it's a habit he's developed when he worries. Louis and Violet depart the school bus together, walking the two mile walk from the bus stop to the street their house is on. Violet tells Louis about the parenting assignment they've been given ("I actually have to, like, carry around a sack of flour for a month. I don't even think I want kids, so this prep is so unnecessary."). He remembers his experience with the nightmare of an assignment very clearly. It started with Mary deciding to make seven batches of chocolate chip cookies with this unopened bag of flour ("Mom! You just made cookies out of your grandchild!"), and ended with Louis admitting to himself that, yes, he is a homosexual male.

When Violet and Louis enter the house, it's stifling from being closed up all day. A side effect of Violet's paranoia is firmly shut windows throughout the day, even in the warmest weather. He sighs when he notices that nothing looks like it's been touched, Mary hasn't been back yet. In all of her insanity and passion for unattainable things, Louis still loves his mother endlessly.

"Chicken pot pies?" Violet asks, opening the window above the kitchen sink. 

"Sure," Louis agrees, cracking the living room window, too. 

Violet and Louis eat a lot of chicken pot pies. It's their favourite meal, really. Violet says chicken pot pies are the perfect dinner because you get all the food groups in one meal. Louis isn't very interested in food groups and all that health-nut shit, but chicken pot pies are delicious and he will vouch for that. 

"Having the oven on will make the house even hotter," Louis whines as he slings his backpack onto the cracked dining room table.

"It's a sacrifice. It's worth it," Violet replies.

She's still got her backpack on, and she's bustling around the kitchen. The frozen pies go in foil pie tins, the oven heated to three-hundred-and-fifty degrees. After twenty minutes, the pies will be cooked enough to eat, and Louis's stomach grumbles at the mere thought. His mouth waters, too, thinking of food. He rarely takes a lunch, and could never afford to buy a lunch every day, so naturally dinner is the best meal. Violet is much more conscious of her weight than Louis, and she takes fruit and vegetables everyday. 

"I have an English essay," Violet complains. "I hate Shakespeare. He's boring and his plays need serious editing."

"Ugh," Louis rolls his eyes. "Who in the world actually likes him?"

Violet pads to the table where Louis is seated, slinging her bag on the surface beside Louis's. Louis pulls his math homework out of his bag, and he can hear Violet rustling around, probably pulling her homework out, too. They spend most pre-dinner times like this. Doing homework on the secondhand, split-down-the-middle dining room table, the mouth-watering scent of baking chicken pot pies in the air. It's comfortable, and Louis feels like Violet is his only real family sometimes - most times.

After twenty minutes, the chicken pot pies are done. And so is half of Louis's math homework. Violet serves their dinner on the orange plates Louis knows are leftover from his grandparents, and Louis pours them each a glass of milk in matching glasses. At lot of their furniture is left over from their maternal grandparents, people whom Louis and Violet haven't seen since they were seven and five, respectively. It's not much of a big deal that they haven't seen them in officially a decade, but they were always really amazing people and kept Mary in line. (If Louis knew where the hell they were exactly, he'd call them to keep her disciplined. He doesn't really know, sadly.)

Violet and Louis play games on the nights that Mary's missing from meals, something to keep them occupied. Some of them are standard games like I Spy and 20 Questions, and others are games they've invented. Louis's favourite game is a variation of charades, one they invented, where you hum a few bars of a song and the other player gets three chances to guess the song. If the other player guesses it wrong three times, they lose their turn. It's Louis's favourite because he always wins, the competition and thrill of success singing in his veins.

Louis hums Duran Duran (but not Hungry Like The Wolf), Pat Benetar, and Bryan Adams. He wins all but the last one, and Violet correctly guesses Heaven on the first try. Violet hums Madonna when it's finally her turn.

"You would hum Madonna, Vi," Louis teases.

Violet takes her love for Madonna very seriously, and holds her hand to her heart as if she's wounded. "Of course I picked the only talented human in music."

"Excuse you, but Feel Like Makin' Love is the best song. It's so sexual," Louis wiggles his eyebrows to accentuate his point.

Violet's cheeks tint slightly pink, and she avoids his eye contact for a beat longer than usual. Louis doesn't mind, isn't really surprised. Violet's the only one he ever told The Thing to, and she accepted him, nodded like she understood, but didn't really like to envision her older brother doing things people do when they are The Thing. Louis wishes it were commonplace for people to just be themselves, whoever they are. He doesn't know a single person who goes to church, there isn't even a church for a couple towns over, yet everyone follows the so-called rules of religion. It's exasperating. He swallows down his defence, knowing Violet really doesn't care, and decides not to hum any remotely sexual songs for the remainder of the evening.

(But it's still frustrating that he feels like he has to hold back, even with his own sister. Fuck.)

The siblings clear the table together, placing the dirty dishes in the sink. They usually only do dishes once a week, because it saves on dish soap, and yeah, sometimes being poor has its plusses. After they're done, they continue their homework in the grass of the backyard. Their neighbour, Mrs Potts, is in her yard talking to her yappy little dog again. The chipping white fence separates them so Louis takes advantage and mocks her, standing with his hands holding an imaginary dog, batting his eyelashes dramatically, and Violet laughs at his scene. Drama and acting have always been Louis's passion, but a boy in drama class is the equivalent to Satan burning all the kittens in the world on the lawn of a church. Sort of. So anyways, Louis isn't in drama, he just does his thing at home and sticks to math at school.

"Oh, Lily, you're such a sweet little girl! Mama loves you, baby," Louis mock-coos with a ridiculously high-pitched voice. "Mama's going to give you a bath, so you're a nice, clean princess for tomorrow!"

Violet tips her head back in laughter. Louis may only have a one man - or one woman, rather - audience, but Violet is the best possible spectator. 

Louis bows and Violet claps. "Round of applause to the best actor ever!" Violet cheers.

Louis beams, the rush of even a stupid, brief play makes him feel as if he's glowing, then settles down to finally complete his homework.

Mary may not be around, things may be shitty sometimes, but that's all irrelevant when things are good. And they are. They're good and Louis is happy, and both siblings are optimistic that Mary will be home any day now.

•••

Mary does return eventually. Louis and Violet walk the two mike journey home from school, passing Mr and Mrs Hewitt's house and waving in return as they wave. Mr and Mrs Hewitt are a nice couple, quiet and they keep to themselves. Louis couldn't possibly ask for better neighbours. Though anyone is better than Mrs Potts and her annoying little excuse of a dog.

Violet notices Mary's piece of shit car in the driveway before Louis does, and she's squealing and hitting him in the arm excitedly. Louis feels excited, too. He's missed his mom, and the sight of her car parked in the driveway is equivalent to seeing a pile of a million dollars. Well, almost. But it's pretty damn close.

The pair of them race up the few paces of lawn, into the front door, and excitedly glancing around for Mary. When they find her, she's seated at the dining room table, nursing a glass of cold water.

"Hey, kiddo," Mary grins as Violet embraces her immediately. Louis stands back watching fondly, waiting for his turn.

Mary looks happier this time, a fresh, cheery glow about her. Just seeing her in the kitchen is a sigh of relief. Weight lifted, he leans down to hug Mary, too.

"Hey, son," she smiles, kissing him on the cheek.

"We missed you, mom," Violet states.

"And I missed you," she replies, taking a quick sip of water.

Louis unpacks his homework, feeling warm and happy inside, setting the textbooks and writing utensils on the table, and chucking his bag into a corner. Mary stays seated, seemingly content to watch Violet and Louis unpack their school bags. Louis's thankful it's a Friday, hopeful to spend the weekend with Mary.

And maybe, just maybe, Louis is as excited that Mary is home as he is that she's taking them out for dinner. Mary informs the kids that they'll take a drive to the next town over, where everyone's favourite burger and fry joint is located. Louis is slightly dubious of her motives, the initial shock and joy of her return wearing off. 

While Mary excuses herself to the washroom, oddly formal and polite, Louis leans across the table to whisper to Violet.

"What's up with her?" Louis asks, voice hushed.

Violet shrugs, "she's usually more cheerful after she's gone away."

Louis knows this, however unfortunately, but it still crosses him as suspicious. And frankly, he's offended. His own mother is happier after being gone for varying lengths of time than she is when she stays at home, responsibly, with her own children. This has been going in for years and Louis is used to it, but still offended, and reasonably so. Nonetheless, she seems even happier this time. She's more polite, more formal, more like the mothers on television and that his friends have.

"She's weirder today. Happier or something."

"Maybe she met someone," Violet suggests, her voice quiet, too.

Louis has thought this over plenty of times. Maybe Mary has met someone, a nice man with lots of money and that's why she's taking them out for dinner. It's hard to say, though. Louis wishes it to happen, wishes he had a father-like figure in his life, but maybe he should just start with being thankful he has a (however part-time) mother figure in his life.

"Maybe," Louis replies after a beat longer of silence and contemplation.

As if on queue, Mary steps out of the small bathroom that's just off the kitchen. She's wearing a skirt that Louis doesn't remember her owning, flowing and floral that reaches mid-calf. She's got on her usual white tennis shoes and a yellow T-shirt Louis has seen before, so at least she's not completely alienated.

"Ready?" Their mother asks, smiling and walking towards the front door.

Violet and Louis follow silently, having learnt years ago not to ask questions. It's all nice, though. Louis stuffs down the strange feeling of what the fuck and climbs in the passenger seat, Violet in the back and Mary at the wheel. It feels a little nostalgic, the three of them driving together. Louis vaguely - so, so vaguely - remembers his father and this feeling. Mary absolutely refuses to speak of him, Louis isn't even entirely sure of his name, but he remembers driving in a car, the four of them. Mary's hair was blowing in the wind, window down in the passenger seat, and his dad was driving. Little Baby Violet was swaddled in Louis's lap, and Louis stroked her forehead as they drove. Louis doesn't remember the time of day, where they were going, where they were leaving, or any other significant details. He just remembers this sweet, driving feeling. Travelling. He remembers the feeling of family. 

The landscape of dry shrubs and a sparsely populated small town whips buy them as Mary drives. How she even has a fucking driver's licence is beyond Louis, considering she has no regards for speed limits or the brakes. 

"Mom, we're going to die!" Violet shrieks after the third red light is run.

"We're going fast enough that we'll avoid death!" Mary laughs. And no, Mary should not laugh while driving, because she swerves excessively and Louis's heart is in his throat and his stomach is threatening to drop out of his ass.

Thankfully, they make it to Winston's in one piece. In fact, they even picked up another piece.

"I wanted bling on my grill," Mary laughs, as she points to the dead bird twisted and mangled in the rusty grill. 

Louis's stomach does a little twist. That is certainly not an appetising sight.

The burger he orders takes his mind off the deceased bird that Mary's car adorns. It's thick and juicy, loaded with pickles just the way he likes it, and the Coke washes down any uncertainty he might've had over Mary's motives.

"Fuck, this is a good burger," Louis says as he wipes his chin with a napkin.

"Don't swear, Louis," Mary scolds. Louis shrugs. 

He's seventeen and practically his own parent. He will say fuck if he wants to.

Mary doesn't talk about where she went or why or who she saw or any of the details Louis would love to hear. He feels like his own mother has a life completely secret, private from the one she has when she's at home. Louis, of course, has considered that Mary may be a secret agent, but that's the closest he'll ever get to knowing if she honestly is or not. 

Instead of discussing Mary in any way shape or form, they discuss Violet and her impending doom of a health project.

"Honestly, they're just encouraging teen pregnancy," Violet whines. 

Mary scoffs. "How does having to take care of a baby encourage teen pregnancy? If anything, the sight of children should be everyone's greatest birth control."

Louis's heart sinks infinitesimally at the off-handed comment. He should be used to hearing things like that because Mary makes thoughtless comments like it all the time. One never gets used to their mother, who - in all her mentally unwell glory - claims to love her children and hate them at the same time, making remarks like that. A quick glance over to Violet gives Louis the assumption that she feels the same.

Mary doesn't seem to notice the effect that comment has, so Violet swallows and continues.

"Not everyone thinks that way, though."

Louis can practically hear the eye roll and 'the whole world doesn't revolve around you' that lays beneath Violet's response.

Mary sighs and gives Violet a look as if she's embarrassed for her. "You'll learn. Probably the hard way, but you'll learn."

Violet's face is a little red, and it's hard to tell if it's out of anger or humiliation, so he thinks of something to fend Mary off. She's his mother and, really, he shouldn't be fending her off of her own daughter, but it wouldn't be the first time Mary's forgotten that Violet is her daughter - her fifteen year old daughter, no less.

"Mom, we get it. Having kids is the worst thing ever, we get it," Louis hopes his voices sounds as firm but hoping-for-peace as he intends it to.

Mary turns to look at Louis, the look of utter sadness replacing the mock-sympathy look she gave to Violet. "Oh, honey, no! Having kids is not the worst thing ever. I love you both so, so much. How could you ever think such an awful thing?"

Louis immediately comes up with a million remarks about just why he was thinking that - most of them including the line "because you just said so," but he refrains. Violet smiles a little across the table and Louis takes another bite instead of answering his mother. If anything, these burgers are the equivalent to heaven, so they compensate for how Mary is sometimes the equivalent to Hell.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence, and the silence isn't even all bad. Mostly companionable silence, and Louis is thankful that they can achieve that when he simultaneously wants to reach across the table and choke his mother.

Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

The drive back is worse though. Mary rants about men who look like they're half-gorilla and eight months pregnant, how she saw one the other day, trapezing around town with his Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned and how she nearly threw up on the spot. Mary tells stories with vivid analogies and graphic detail, and as much as Louis likes men, he doesn't not like the sound of this man. She says he was checking her out, and how she laughed in his face that he'd never get the chance to be with her. Violet laughs loudly, and Louis would probably laugh along with her if only he could get the disturbing mental image of the man out of his mind.

He's still thinking about the carpet he must have on his chest when In The Air Tonight comes on the radio. Louis groans internally. If there's anything he hates more than Hungry Like The Wolf, it's any Phil Collins song. Louis has a headache from hell, throbbing his brain inside of his skull and he's growing increasingly tired. It's been an eventful day considering Louis's life is typically long and boring and uneventful.

They pull in the driveway and dust from the dirt of their road clouds behind them in a trail. Louis often feels bad for the dusty road because Martin Pierce lives up the road, he's only six but he's got shit lungs. Louis remembers seeing him outside a lot when he was younger, watching the way the dust would stir up and Martin would begins to cough and wheeze. 

Martin's shit lungs are neither here nor there, really. Completely irrelevant. Mary cuts the engine and gets out of the car, and Louis spins around to face Violet. Violet's cheeks are red and Louis knows this look. Violet wants to scream at Mary. Louis understands this desire, too. While the anger escaped him momentarily, a shitty Phil Collins song and a little boy's shittier lungs invading his thoughts, he too is miffed at Mary.

"At least she's back, I guess," Violet says, then takes a deep breath.

Louis chuckles a little. "I guess."

When they get inside Mary's already in her room with her door shut all the way. Louis and Violet know what that means. Do not disturb, even if the house is on fire. And so they don't. They complete the homework they have at the dining table, then brush their teeth and send themselves to bed. Louis and Violet are good. Louis is proud of them. He's a good person, despite what anyone says about him. 

They say good night to each other, Louis's mind still stuck on the Carpet Chest the Pregnant Man. He tucks himself in, wishing Mary was even slightly more friendly. She's been gone a while, after all. Maybe, just maybe, she'll crack the door open, peer in and wish him good night. That's never happened before, so Louis doesn't really count on it starting tonight. 

Life's just like that.

•••

When Louis was in fourth grade, a speaker came in to their school to speak about cancer. The man talked about being thankful enough to survive bone cancer, though he lost an arm and a leg. He was nice, though, he was funny and made the students and teachers laugh. He said cancer, of course, was no laughing matter, and Louis know this. It's very serious and has a pretty good track record of ending one's life. 

Louis remembers staring at his prosthetic limbs as he said that life is meant to be laughed at. Life throws these ridiculous obstacles at you, but that's nothing if you just laugh at it and walk around the obstacles. Never take anything too seriously. When life gives you lemons, sour and widely disliked, throw in some sugar and water and make lemonade.

Of course, a lot of things he said are tremendously easier said than done.

When Louis rolls out of bed in the morning, the sun is already shining through his window. He's asked Mary multiple times to just fucking invest in some sort of window coverings, but she stubbornly insists that window drapery blocks the sunlight and the earth from illuminating the inside of their house with all of the planet's goodness. What a load of bullshit, really. Louis is going blind from the sudden light, his eyes cracking open and feeling like acid-corroded stone. 

"Fuck," he curses to himself.

The house is silent, almost too silent. Louis wonders if Mary slept in. Usually when she's home after being gone for a few days, she can be heard singing and dancing throughout the house as early as four in the morning. It's not particularly favourable, far too early for Louis's teenage body, but the sound is homely in retrospect. Today, though, Louis sneaks out of his room, quietly as to not disturb the peace. Violet is clearly still in her room, likely asleep, with the door shut. It's a Saturday, granted, and normally Louis is anything but an early riser. Today feels different. There's a thrum of something pacing through his bloodstream, an impatient buzz of electricity that requires his full attention. Tip-toeing, Louis walks to the kitchen. The kitchen is their common place, more of a gathering area than their living room.

The sun streams through the small kitchen window, washing the kitchen in bubbly hues of honey and pink blush. Louis doesn't feel bubbly with anything but sheer terror. His heart races, a stallion in his chest competing to win a prize - what prize, he isn't sure - as he sees the one thing he has no desire to see. It's like all the electricity in his veins cuts out completely, the circuit shorts. His heart, once a competitive, racing stallion now nothing more than a felled horse in an abandoned barnyard. His life has built up entirely to the moment where he compares his vital organs to farm animals. Louis blinks to unsee it. He can't unsee it.

"Violet!" He hollers, spinning on his heel and running to her room before he can think twice about it. "Violet, wake up!"

He whips the door open, rips her bed sheet off her, and shakes her with all of the remaining zaps of electric energy that could possibly exist in his veins. She jolts up with a start, as if the electric current transferred.

"What?"

Louis just yanks her out of bed, pushing her into the hall and towards the kitchen, ignoring the rat's nest in the back of her blonde head.

Violet pales at the sight. What a terrible way to start a sunny Saturday, Louis thinks. He hates Mary a little for this.

The letter sits on the table, looking up at them dauntingly. He's read over it already. He reads it again over Violet's shoulder, simultaneously gaging her reaction as she reads. He tries in vain to remind himself it's inevitable, it's not the end of the world, they knew this sort of thing would happen. It's a tough pill to swallow, reality is. Just because it was one of those things he knew in the back of his mind would happen, doesn't mean he wanted it to happen. He feels as if he could never prepare himself for this. Wasn't last night so good? It went so well, nobody had even fought. 

It's an indefinite amount of time Mary will be gone for. Could be months, could be days. Louis is almost positive it will be the former rather than the latter. Mary found a man. Mary has two wonderful children who she should be nothing short of proud of, who she could easily pack up and take with her. Instead she leaves them with a letter. Louis's eyes flick upward a few millimetres. She also leaves them with The Jar. 

The Emergency Funds Jar, for if The Great Depression occurs again and banks collapse. This isn't a second-coming of The Great Depression, though. This is Mary leaving her teenage children with a jar of cash and a letter explaining that she's off to The Great White North with her new man (not Clark, it underlines. Louis is skeptical of whether or not this means it is Clark, or whether she's being honest and it truly isn't Clark). Louis wanted her to find a man, but not like this. Not when she already has a family right here, two perfectly healthy albeit nonconformist children. (Mary is a nonconformist, she raised her children as such, and should be proud that they are non-conforming like she wanted them to be.) Louis's mind runs a mile per minute. A loop of questions shouting why, how, what, why, why, why.

"What are we going to do?" Violet asks, looking to her older brother with panic laced through her big blue eyes.

Louis purses his lips. He inhales deeply. He exhales slowly. He is the poster of meditation in this moment. He wills his heart rate to calm and his mind to stop panicking. Violet waits patiently for an answer as Louis mentally brainstorms all possible plans of action.  
They could go search for her; depending on how late or how early she left for Up North, she definitely couldn't be more than 20 hours away. Louis knows the border is exactly 20 hours from here. (Unless she flew, which suggests her car is at the airport and if they retrieve it, it will be at their disposal.) They could go to their neighbours or the police or not tell a single soul what's happening. It seems like it'd be easy to pretend that it's just another spew of days where Mary's off doing whatever she does when she's gone. Louis thinks back to that cancer survivor, all the optimism they shared, how Louis kept thinking it was all so much easier said than done. This couldn't possibly be that hard. They'll just stay here, using their Emergency Funds to buy groceries and pay bills, Louis will get a job, they'll go to school like every other day, and they'll just play a constant game of pretend. Louis loves drama, loves acting, so it shouldn't be too hard to pretend Mary will return soon. Violet will play along, she loves games.

Despite the utter panic that squeezes at Louis's heart, he looks his sister in the eye with as much confidence as he can, and says, "we'll continue with our lives here. She'll be back soon. It says right there in the letter this is only temporary, God knows she does this all the time," Louis shrugs. "So it's cool."

Violet looks ever-so unconvinced but nods nonetheless. "Okay."

Louis feels just as unsure as Violet looks. 


End file.
